The Scarlet Kerchief
by Mme. Patria
Summary: Pearl Prynne and her mother Hester venture out to the village square to shop one day. Pearl is allowed to play with some new children in the village. There are... a few unexpected consequences. BAD consequences.


**This is just an idea for a short story I had while reading Daniel Hawthorn's ****_The Scarlet Letter, _****which I got for Christmas this year. I feel that since the book isn't from a first person POV, it would have been hard for Hawthorn to explain Pearl Prynne's childhood in depth. I think that Pearl is one of the most interesting characters in ****_T.S.L. _****and was a little sad that we didn't get to hear ****_her _****views on the ****_A_****, and Massachusetts and most of her childhood with Hester. This story is set during the English Civil War, and the soldiers present are Americans shipping off to England to fight – I wasn't very historically accurate, but it's written from a small child's point of view so ****_accuracy _****as a point is fairly moot. Sorry for any confusion history-wise. I own nothing, save for Harper, Min, Willow, Jacob and Phoebe. ****_Merci! _**

**- Pearl - **

When Pearl Prynne thought of her childhood, one of the things she remembered best was the men in uniform.

She always found the Uniforms intriguing – almost as intriguing as her mother's _A _or the way the Bay people shunned her. But those things were always to close at hand, to _in reach. _The Uniforms were _mysterious. _They were enigmatic creatures in strange clothes carrying metal sticks, and they were just within a few miles' reach.

Just waiting there for Pearl to dissect them.

Pearl first saw the Uniforms when her mother had to make one of her monthly rounds down to the Bay Colony, although she didn't get a good look at them. Pearl didn't understand why her mother always had to keep her so close to her chest when she carried her, or why people in the village looked at her funny… Like she'd done something wrong.

Pearl accepted this with gusto.

She probably _had _done something wrong and if the village people wanted to punish her for that, that was fine.

She deserved it.

Just like her mother did. And the _A. _

Pearl didn't understand why people hated the _A _so much. Pearl kind of liked it. The _A _was a constant, a touchstone. When everything else in her life when topsy-turvy, when she skinned her knee or got a fever, the _A _was always there. And when the _A _was there, Pearl knew that Hester Prynne – her mother – was not far away either.

Anyway. Pearl had been cradled in her mother's arms, her tiny, red/blonde head tucked into the woman's bosom, when suddenly she saw Hester stiffen. She _felt _her mother stiffen, the arms wrapped around her tightening, pulling her into her chest.

Pearl looked up and frowned.

There was a table seated in the middle of the village square – near those horrible gallows she and her mother had been forced to walk on – and beside it was a line of people.

The people were odd for they didn't look like people… They looked more like ants. Or wooden mannequins.

They all wore the same greenish-grey uniform, and their heads were all neatly close cropped. And they all had the same cold, calculating look on their faces.

Rather like the one Pearl was wearing right then.

"Mam, who are those men?" she asked innocently.

Hester didn't respond.

"Mam?"

"… No one sweetheart. Just… workers."

"Workers?"

"For a farm."

Pearl looked from her mother to the men and back, a tiny frown creasing her smooth brow.

"They don't look like workers, Mam."

"Well, they are. They're workers for a farm."

"They look sad."

"That's because the farm is a long way away and they have to leave their families behind."

"Did Pap have to go to the farm?"

The look that flashed across Hester's face in that moment could only be described in one pure, perfect word: _hatred. _

The mother jostled the child further upwards, for her little legs were hanging down, and Pearl buried her face in the _A _content sigh.

"No, sweet-pea", Hester murmured, "Pap isn't on the farm. Pap's in the fire."

"The fire?"

Hester smiled sweetly and started to make her way to the grocery store again. "There's no fire, sweet-pea. It's just a…" her eyes glazed over and it made Pearl feel sad, "… just a funny thing."

"Like the _A?_"

Hester didn't answer.

"Mam?"

"Just drop it will you?!" Hester snapped and then, upon seeing the stunned look on Pearl's face, softened, "Sorry, sweet-pea. Mam's just a little tired. Do you want some sweets?"

Pearl immediately perked up, nodding vigorously.

"Yes Mam! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Hester smiled, and the smile lit her face up and made her beautiful once more.

Pearl often found it sad to look at her mother. She had the look of a young, bright girl who's youth had run away from her in the blink on an eye. Nine tearful decades merged with nineteen carefree, content years. Pearl's mother reminded her sorrowfully of a basset hound who had been kicked around to much – and to see her face sag and her eyes deaden in moments of mourning – mourning for _what _Pearl wasn't sure – made her shudder.

But the most heartbreaking thing to Pearl was that her mother certainly hadn't _come into _the world deject, reviled and beaten to a pulp. In fact, in her younger years – the nineteen carefree, content years – she must have even been pretty. _Beautiful, _even, with her long, flowing red hair, and bright, watery blue eyes.

Pearl didn't know how old her mother was – not a day past her late twenties, she'd have to say – and she could still see the delicacy, the smoothness of her current age tearing and battling against the village people who scorned and mocked her with the letter Pearl found almost _comforting. _

The faint traces of any good looks or gracefulness her mother must have possessed – _once _– were fading away in that sagging, gaunt face of – what? – twenty-six? Twenty-seven? _Thirty, _at the latest.

Like the candle of life slowly burning down to the wick of grief, despair, loneliness –

Pearl's frankly morbid train of thought was cut off by a cheerful cry from somewhere ahead of her and, as if by the toddler's sheer willpower, Hester ground to a halt.

Before them, in a rudimentary sandbox by the side of the grocery store, were two children.

They were both girls, and both very pretty – like Pearl – with long golden hair and sharp green eyes… Only the taller, older one's were darker.

On the steps of the grocery store was a woman who couldn't have been much older than Hester herself, who, rather than the two girls', had short, russet hair and wide, doleful brown eyes.

Pearl – and, she suspected, Hester – didn't recognise the woman or her children, and Pearl wondered if she had something to do with the Uniforms.

The brown haired woman was watching the two blonde girls playing in the sandbox with a soft, gentle smile. Pearl had never known her mother to smile like that – so peacefully, calmly. Hester's smiles were two things. They were either tight, tense, forced and fake – a slight twitching of the corners of her thin lips – or sharp, warm bursts of colour in the dreary grey landscape that the woman quickly snuffed out, for fear of – Pearl suspected – anyone seeing her and _tsk_ing.

The two girls – in comparison to their mother's tranquillity – were bumbling balls of energy, giggling manically one minute, shouting the next and then rolling in the sand like to animals fighting over a bone.

Pearl watched them in wonderment with wide, awed eyes.

She had never been able to play like that, in the cottage outside of the Bay.

Her playtime always had to be a quiet, organised thing for Hester always got migraines and terrible sicknesses. Also, Pearl suspected, Hester was a tad resentful when it came to Pearl's infernally innocent happiness. Like she was slowly being robbed of everything she could have known before her very eyes…

Pearl shook herself.

_No, _she thought to herself, _No, that's not true. It's not _you. _It's the _A. _If it wasn't for the _A _we'd all be alright! All alright! _

Pearl set her jaw resolutely – in the charming way of children – and looked up at her mother pleadingly.

"Can I play with them, Mam? With the two little girls?"

Pearl saw her mother's face sag as it usually did when she asked something she knew was impossible, and Pearl felt her heart flop around like a dying fish. She knew it was no use.

But then, suddenly, something sparked in her mother's eyes.

"You know what", Hester said, pulling her cloak over her shoulder to obscure the _A_, "I think you can."

**- Hester - **

"Your children are very beautiful."

The brown haired woman looked up immediately in shock, her eyes wide, and then relaxed, smiling warmly at Hester.

The _A_dulterer always found that paying tribute the one's children seemed to put people off their guard – and it certainly did with her, but in an entirely different way, of course.

The woman held out her hand – a pale, delicate thing – and Hester shook it briskly.

"Willow Trollope."

"Hester Prynne."

Hester winced, waiting for the woman to recoil her hand back to her chest, grab her children and walk away, but she did not.

_Interesting… _

"Are you new in town?" Hester asked.  
"Yes, uhm…" Willow pointed at a tall, green eyed man lining up at the artillery sign-up desk, "That's my husband, Jacob. He's being shipped over to England tomorrow."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. He's only working as an artillery man – and they take good care of that bunch over there. And besides…" the woman looked around her and breathed in contentedly, "my daughters and I get to stay in this lovely town. You must love it here?"

_Oh yeah, _Hester thought to herself sarcastically, _It's the bee's knees. _

"Yes… it's… uh… aesthetically pleasing, yes."

Willow searched Hester's face with a slight frown for any sign – anything at all – but to Hester's pleasure she found absolutely nothing. Just a slightly _off _looking smile. Slightly sad.

"Thank-you", Willow said after a while and then, seeing the confused look on Hester's face, "For your comment. It means a lot to me. Thanks."

Hester feels her heart ache. She'd hasn't been thanked for anything in _so _long.

Just as she was about to grab Pearl and run – she didn't think she could take advantage of the woman's ignorance any longer – her daughter shifted. The tiny, curly haired head poked out from behind Hester's skirts, and Willow's eyes lit up.

"Why, is this angel your daughter Miss Prynne?"

Pearl giggled, hiding her blush.

Hester resisted the urge to slap Pearl there and then. "Yes", she tried to keep the wavering in her voice under control, "thank-you. Yes, this is my daughter – Pearl Prynne."

Willow smiled brightly and patted the spot beside her on the bench, offering a seat to Hester.

_A seat?! Someone's offering _me _a _seat_?! _

She stays standing, but smiles gratefully at Willow.

"Well", Willow gestured to the two blonde kids, "Those are my daughters. Harper and Min. They're both seven-years-old. How old's yours?"

"Three."

Willow's smile faded slightly into wistfulness, as if she were remembering when _her _children were three.

"Pearl, you can play with them, if you like", she offered after a while, "They're perfectly friendly."

Hester cringed as Pearl jumped at the chance.

"Can I Mam? Can I?"

"I don't think…"  
"Oh, it wouldn't be any trouble", Willow interjected, "Harper and Min have been terribly lonely the last few weeks – a playmate would do them some good."

Hester looked down at her daughter deeply – still sceptical to the idea – but upon seeing the heart-wrenchingly hopeful look on the girl's face, she sighed inwardly.

"You be good, Pearl", she murmured and then, to Willow, "I'm just going to be in the shop for a few minutes. I'll come out soon."

Willow waved her away with a charming, wide, warm smile.

"Goodbye Hester."

Hester paused a moment on her walk up the stairs, turning her head so her profile faced the other mother.

"Thank you…" she began, but trailed away upon seeing that Willow was already engrossed in watching the children.

_Thank you Willow. _

**- Pearl - **

Pearl was wary of Harper and Min for the first few minutes. They were both so pretty and bright looking, in their pink and blue petticoats with their corn-silk gold hair tied back in thick, bunchy plats.

She stood off to the sidelines, feeling envious of their good looks.

It seemed that, while her mother's face was degenerating, Pearl was inheriting the flaws in an almost hereditary sense.

Her wide set, large eyes were already ringed with black and in their largeness was all the pain and sadness of an age – Pearl wasn't sure _why _she was sad, perhaps it was the _A, _or Reverend Dimmesdale's snarky comments, or the isolation – but she knew it wasn't normal for a child of three to feel so much suffering.

She knew her mother had done bad. Sinned. Blasphemed. She wasn't sure…

But she was sure that it – whatever _it _was – would make it virtually impossible for her to have an average childhood.

So she must steal every moment from _it. _

And it was with this in mind that she strode up to the two girls, hands twisting her skirts into nervous knots by her sides.

The two girls looked up at her.

"My name's Pearl and –" no sooner had she uttered a few words had the elder one – Min – pulled her to the ground beside them, and jabbed a finger at something Pearl couldn't name.

"Look!" the younger girl cried, "We found a worm!"

Pearl sat in stunned silence for a few moments and watched Harper and Min experimenting with the poor, pink creature.

At first the worm – and the way the two girls tortured it – reminded Pearl of her mother and the villagers… But as she became more engrossed in the two girls' actions she realised the obvious. That is was _just a worm. _

She picked up a stick and prodded at the thing.

She felt a wide smile spread across her face as she had a second epiphany for the day.

_I'm playing... _She stared at Min and Harper's grinning faces in mute shock …_ I'm playing… _with friends.

**- Hester - **

The scream came a few moments later, while Hester was at the counter paying up.

The scream was like a kidney stone to Hester. A knot of dread at the pit of her soul. And the dread quickly twisted itself into pure, animalistic fear as, a second or two later, the scream was followed by a cry of: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET YOUR CHILDREN AWAY FROM HER!"

Hester exchanged a quick look with the shopkeeper, who smiled evilly at her, and then dropped her hessian sack to the floor, bolting across the shop and out onto the market.

She was met by a sight that made her stomach twist with hatred. Hatred and fear and sorrow.

There is a woman running towards Willow, Min, Harper and her Pearl. Hester recognises the woman – her name is Phoebe Barrow and she lives next door to Reverend Dimmesdale. She is an avid believer in the _A _and its consequences.

She is also, as it happens, shaking her fist at Pearl.

Shaking her fist and screaming _at Pearl. _Pearl, a sweet, innocent little girl – a bastard, but still, _entirely _innocent. Pearl, the little bastard who was staring up at Phoebe with wide, tear filled eyes, her little mouth half open in question.

And with a simple gesture Pearl curls into a tight ball, holding her hands over her head and it is at this terrified gesture that something inside Hester snaps. The mind is a brittle thing… And brittle things break easily.

"You get away from her", she snarls, almost to herself and then, louder, "You get away from her this instant Mrs. Barrow!"

All activity in the square grinded to a halt.

The soldiers stop their milling chatter, the pony and trap slows to a standstill and Phoebe, Willow, Min, Harper and Pearl stare at Hester with wide eyes. Willow's are questioning, Min's and Harper's innocent, and Pearl's petrified, pleading, hapless…

"Get. Away. From her."

Phoebe laughs menacingly at Hester.

"Why should I? She has no rights! She is a gargoyle! A daemon from hell! Born of sin and raised in blood! She deserves death, not love!"

Hester ground her teeth, balling her fists at her sides.

"Leave. Her. Alone…" She composes herself, "She has done nothing wrong. She has nothing to fear, nothing to covet or hide. Do not harm her."

"Oh, Lord help me if I should harm a _bastard child_."

There is a sharp intake of breath and it takes Hester a moment to realise it has come from Willow, who is staring at her in question, her mouth a silent letter O? _Why? _

Hester shakes her head minutely, meeting the other mother's eyes with a hopeless look.

Willow pauses a moment – as if deliberating whether or not to act on anything – and then stands up.

For a moment Hester's heart soars, thinking that the woman is going to stand up to Phoebe, but then she deflates as Willow lifts Harper and Min up by the scruff of their necks and leads them over to Jacob. Jacob shakes his head slowly at Hester, making the small sign of a + with his fingers.

Hester looks down at her shoes in shame, trying to hold back the hot, bitter tears that are streaming down Pearl's little face freely.

Hester then, with a great sense of dignity, rolls her shoulders back and walks calmly across the square to Pearl. She nudges the child with her foot, waits for her to stand up and then scoops her up in her arms gently.

Pearl burries her face in the _A _with a soft moan that trails away to a whimper.

"We're going home now Pearl."

Pearl looks from Phoebe to Hester in mute fear and then mumbles very quietly, "I'm sorry Mam." – this echoes rather loudly around the square.

Hester, with a deliberate, sharp look at Phoebe, says in a ringing, jubilant voice, "You have nothing to be sorry _for, _Pearl", and then turns around and begins walking away.

She only sees the rock Phoebe throws when it collides with her daughter's soft head.

**- Pearl - **

Pearl couldn't remember ever feeling as much pain in her entire life as she did when her mother carried her through the door of her cottage, blood streaming down her face.

The wound itself didn't hurt – though the smell of blood made her feel quite ill – but the pain of knowing what she had brought on her mother – Hester Prynne – was far worse.

Pearl would later be told that she had bled so much that her entire face had been red – as if covered with a scarlet kerchief.

Hester sat her down on the table and set about cleaning the gravel and ingrained dust out of her wounds.

Pearl stared at her mother in wonderment as she did so.

She seemed so calm yet so busy, and her face was the picture of tranquillity.

Which seemed odd to Pearl as, after the rock had collided with her face, Hester had cursed Phoebe Barrows so loudly that the entire town had heard.

"Damn you, you –. No, no – look at me, look at me you – you –. Look at what you've – done. You've maimed an innocent child you –, you –!"

Pearl shivered at the memory, trying to banish it from her mind forever.

She was comforted by her mother's cooing and the bars of an old ragtime tune she'd hum under her breath every now and then as she bandaged. Though her eyes never left Pearl's.

"Mam", Pearl whispered after the long silence.

"Yes sweet-pea?"

"I'm going to die aren't I?"

All traces of cheer are wiped from Hester's face as it sags, and she sets the bandage roll down on the table with a sigh.

"You're not."

"I am. I'll die and burn in hell."

"You're not going to die, Pearl. I promise."

"I am. I will."

Before Pearl can react, her mother has slapped her across the face. _Hard. _

She doesn't even feel the slap, but she feels the numb, red tingling on her cheek afterwards, and feels the tears springing to her eyes before she even realises she wants to weep.

Hester doesn't apologise. There is nothing to be said – nothing that really _needs _to be said.

Instead she just pulls Pearl into a tight, lung crushing embrace.

They stay like that for a long while, Pearl sitting on the kitchen bench and Hester hugging her tightly.

Eventually Hester pulls away, tears rolling down her own marble cheeks, and kisses the wound of Pearl's head lightly.

"Don't die then", she says with a simple, sad, wavering smile, "Don't die sweet-pea. If you die…" she broke off with a sob, covering her mouth, then continued shakily, "I'm keeping things together for you, my little Pearl. I'm keeping _us – me – _together for you. But I don't think… I don't think I'll be able to if you leave me… If you die…"

Pearl is sobbing openly now, her bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably.

Hester cups her little cheek in her large seeming hand. "I'll do anything you want…_give_ you anything you want… But you have to promise you'll keep breathing… Keep walking on this Earth…And don't ever… _ever…_ die…For me, sweet-pea... Can you do that for your horrible mother?"

Pearl wants to contradict her – wants to tell her she's not a horrible mother – but she can't. Can't find the words.

Instead she just nods mutely, and burries her face in her mother's chest – in the _A _– once more.

"Don't die for me", she hears Hester whisper, "My little Pearl in the mud."

**- Willow - **

Jacob died a few months later.

The artillery sergeant said he'd take care of her husband but he didn't. He lied.

He came home in a wooden box with a bullet wound in his head.

His entire face was bathed in blood.

Willow thought of a woman, when she saw her dead husband.

A woman and her daughter.

**Yeah. So that's just an idea I had. If you like the idea of Pearl's childhood and want me to write more, I'd really appreciate it if you told me, seeing as right now I am BORED OUT OF MY MIND. Also, on this piece, positive criticism is always welcome, as is constructive criticism. BUT NO FLAMES. They're ****_mean! _**

**Don't flame – don't be a Phoebe Barrow ;) **

**Adieu. **


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